


Sometimes You Choose

by ContreParry



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 11:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12983205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: Fade magic has turned Inquisitor Trevelyan into a child with no memories of her adult life. The Inner Circle takes turns caring for their Inquisitor and learn more of what made her who she is. The “Inner Circle Takes Care of A Child” fic no one asked for but they’re getting anyways.





	Sometimes You Choose

**Author's Note:**

> Also Known As: Sometimes a family is a Seeker, two former Bards, an ex-Templar, an elvhen apostate, a dwarven merchant-prince, a Red Jenny, an Enchanter, a Grey Warden, a qunari spy, an Altus mage, a spirit turned flesh and bone, and an Inquisitor who has magically been transformed into a child.

The note came in that misty morning by raven. Leliana retrieved it after giving Messere Fussy-Feathers his well earned bowl of blueberries. She scanned the contents of the note, frowned, and hurried downstairs after ordering one of her agents to tell all members of the Inner Circle present in Skyhold to make their way to the War Room immediately. Once the appropriate people were gathered around the table, some yawning, some still sipping on breakfast tea, some still rubbing sleep from their eyes, Leliana read the note out loud. It woke everyone up straight away.

_Inquisitor dealing with unforeseen effects of the Mark. Returning this evening. Do NOT inform anyone outside the Inner Circle. Have Solas on standby._

_\- Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast._

“It does sound urgent.” Solas murmured after a moment of silence in which everyone digested the scant information provided by the note. “Cole, do you sense anything?”

“My dear, don’t ask the dreadful creature for a favor-” Vivienne began, adjusting her magnificent silk night robe as she spoke. Cole lifted his shaggy head and stared blankly out into the air.

“Confused. Where am I? Where are Nanny and Corwin? No ocean, no salt spray, no roses in the garden- no garden, and my clothes are too big. Kidnapped, strange men and lady, this is not home!” Cole’s panicked recitation stopped suddenly. “Asleep, not dead.” He concluded dully. The room fell into a second silence as they digested Cole’s stream of consciousness dialogue.

“Creepy shit, kid.” Iron Bull said with a low whistle. “Anyone up to interpreting that?” He was one of the few members of the Inner Circle fully dressed and ready for the day. Solas was dressed as he ever was, Cole didn’t understand the concept of sleep, and Leliana probably never went to bed. The rest of the Circle had been roused by Leliana’s messengers and came down to the War Room in various states of undress.

“Fascinating.” Dorian murmured, drawing a thick blanket over his shoulders. “How far can you stretch your consciousness to feel another’s feelings, Cole?” Cole blinked and tilted his head.

“If someone needs my help, then I have to help.” Cole replied. Dorian sighed and shook his head, and Sera grimaced.

“Iz a bunch of twaddle bits, that’s what it is.” She declared, licking a bit of strawberry jam off her fingertips and smearing some of the sticky substance onto her night shirt. “Gettin’ me out of my cozy nest for weird-y cryptic busy-ness, I’m goin’ back to bed.”

“Absolutely not, Sera.” Josephine ordered. “And- is that strawberry jam? How did you get strawberry jam? I had that locked up!” She only looked more frazzled in her frilly bedclothes and her hair loose and draped down her back.

“What I want to know,” Cullen interrupted, drawing attention back to the note laying out on the table. “Is why Cassandra felt the need to be so cryptic.” His hair was curly and falling into his eyes, and he had not put on his armor yet. Cassandra’s early message had even caught him off-guard.

“She is usually far more direct.” Leliana agreed. “She must realize that the situation the Inquisitor is in requires… delicacy.”

“So now we wait.” Vivienne said with a slight frown. “Without any preparation.” The sharp way she said the word ‘preparation’ indicated her full displeasure with the situation at hand.

“If it is something to do with the Inquisitor’s Mark, we can assume she is ill.” Solas pointed out. “And if what Cole says is true-”

“It is.” Cole piped up.

“Then we may be dealing with a visitor.” Dorian explained. “A child, perhaps, who got lost in the Hinterlands?”

“Then we will prepare for a sick Inquisitor and a lost child.” Josephine decided. “It is simple enough. And remember, as Cassandra said, we tell no one until we know more.” That said, the Circle broke apart to prepare for the evening, when the Inquisitor would ride in with Cassandra, Varric, Blackwall, and a lost, frightened child. They would be ready.

Cassandra Pentaghast rode into Skyhold’s main courtyard long after the sun set under the mountains. Her expression was a thundercloud, and she was followed by an equally grim faced Varric and Blackwall. Blackwall rode his horse while holding the lead of the Inquisitor’s mare. The mare’s saddle was empty. While Varric and Blackwall dismounted, Cassandra remained in her saddle as the advisors and Solas approached her.

“Where is Inquisitor Trevelyan?” Leliana asked quietly. Solas’s normally serene expression was wiped clean off his face as he caught sight of Cassandra and what Cassandra had clutched in her arms. His eyes widened as he peered at the bundle of furs and thick winter cloak seated in front of her.

“Be quiet.” Cassandra ordered. “We go inside and sort this out where there are no eyes.” Her voice was imperious, but her eyes were terrified. Whatever had happened had shaken her to her core. Solas continued gazing at the bundle, surprise and wonder warring on his face.

“Is that-”

“Not. Here.” Cassandra hissed. “Inside.” She gestured with her head for someone, anyone, to help her with her bundle, but the bundle of furs sat up straight and a small head poked out of the mass.

It was a little girl no more than eight summers, her dark brown eyes clear and bright and enormous in her round face. Her skin was golden and her nose and cheeks were generously sprinkled with freckles. Her black hair was a tangled mess atop her head.

“Seeker Pentaghast, is this your home?” She asked, her bird-like child voice cutting through the night air. “It’s enormous!”

“It is my home for now.” Cassandra said awkwardly. “Would you like to get down?”

“Yes, please. I am tired.” The girl replied, and she bit her lower lip. “Is Ser Blackwall taking care of the horses? They are much more tired than me.”

“‘Course I am.” Blackwall answered gruffly. “Don’t worry your little head over that, chickadee.”

“Okay.” The girl said cheerfully, and in a swift motion she swung her leg over the saddle and began to slide off the horse. It was a mad scramble to keep the tiny girl from injuring herself, but between Solas and Cassandra they managed to slow her descent so her tiny bare feet were firmly planted on the ground. The girl, unperturbed, looked up at all the gaping faces above her and smiled brightly before waving her left hand, clear of any mark or magic, at them all.

“Good evening! My name is Evelyn, and I believe I was kidnapped! How do you do?”

-

“Maker help me, I don’t know what happened.” Cassandra said once they were all settled in the War Room. Josephine ordered drinks to be brought up from the tavern, and no one protested. The members of the Inner Circle were in various states of shock. Iron Bull’s normally cheerful expression was gone now. He had gone full Ben-Hassrath, the spymaster taking in all the information he could. Dorian was sitting down in his chair, looking surprisingly grim as he listened to Cassandra’s tale. Vivienne was perfectly poised, but her carefully crafted neutral expression was marred by the slight twitch of her left eyebrow. Sera was pacing in front of the fireplace, and Blackwall and Varric were sprawled out in chairs next to Cassandra. Josephine was twisting her fingers in her lap, and Cullen stood unnaturally still by a window. Cole sat on the table, trembling like a newborn calf. Solas was not in the room, and neither was Inquisitor Trevelyan. They were in Josephine’s office, where Solas was investigating the cause of the Inquisitor’s sudden youthful appearance and manner.

“Start from the beginning.” Leliana replied with a fearsome scowl. “I hear that that is a good place to start.”

“Don’t get all snappy, Nightingale.” Varric joked, but there was no humor in his voice. “We walk up to a rift, her Inquistorial-ness gets ready to do her business, the rift’s almost closed up when- bam! Demons.”

“Ass high in demons.” Blackwall added. “Nasty things, too.”

“There was one lust demon, one rage demon, and several fear demons.” Cassandra said. “We were fighting them off, and the Inquisitor just managed to kill the lust demon when-”

“The Mark went crazy. Light everywhere.” Varric finished up. “When it fades, the demons are gone, rift’s closed, and instead of the Inquisitor we have…. mini-Inquisitor.”

“We couldn’t leave her there.” Cassandra reasoned. “So I sent the note.”

“I would hope you wouldn’t have left her in the wilderness.” Cullen replied, his voice strained. “A defenseless child!”

“Not so defenseless.” Varric muttered. “Come see her in the field sometime, Curly, you’ll get a good idea of what she’s capable of-”

“Not the point.” Cullen retorted. “The point is, what do we do now?”

“We wait for Solas to tell us more about this transformation. Vivienne, Dorian, if you would be so kind, perhaps you can also lend your expertise.” Josephine said, recovering slightly. “We will need all of our experts on arcane magics to deal with this… event.”

“Event? You callin’ this an event?” Sera asked. “Freaky magic shite, turnin’ Inky into a knobby kneed girl? She ain’t even lost her first tooth yet!”

“Yes I have!” The little girl exclaimed as she walked into the room, followed by Solas. “Benedict pulled it out for me because I kept wiggling it around at dinner and it made Mother cross!” She yawned, covering her mouth with one tiny hand. Someone (most likely Josephine) had found a child sized nightgown covered in little ruffles and pink ribbons for the girl to wear, but her hair was still a fearsome tangle of knots. 

“Chickadee, what have you been up to?” Blackwall asked, his stern expression melting into fatherly fondness at the girl’s bubbly exuberance.

“Messere Solas has been asking me questions!” The girl said brightly. “He made sure I wasn’t hurt, but I’m fine.”

“She is in excellent health.” Solas agreed quietly. “It is good news. But this young adventurer should go to bed. Staying up so late is not good for you.”

“I will put her to bed.” Cassandra said hastily, getting up from her seat. “Evelyn, with me.”

“Yes, Seeker Pentaghast.” She replied obediently, taking Cassandra’s offered hand. As she was led out of the War Room she turned around and grinned, waggling her fingers at the gathered assembly.

“Good night!” She called out before the door closed.

“Seeker’s getting in touch with her maternal side.” Varric joked. “It’s almost cute.”

“And you’re playing the mad uncle.” Blackwall grumbled.

“You two are taking this better than expected.” Vivienne said icily. Blackwall shrugged.

“Spent the whole day with her, Madame.” Blackwall replied politely. “She’s a sweet little girl, friendly and good natured.”

“Curious, so curious, like a kitten opening its eyes to see the world- who would have thought the Inquisitor was a chatty little thing?” Cole recited.

“Do we have any idea how long the Inquisitor will be a sweet little girl?” Leliana asked Solas.

“A week, give or take a few days.” Solas replied promptly. “Her body was overloaded with Fade magic. It will dissipate, given time.”

“Time. The cure is time.” Dorian groaned. “Vishante kaffas, of course it is!”

“We can’t wait that long.” Josephine said, a worried frown puckering her eyebrows. “If word gets out that Inquisitor Trevelyan has turned into a child, our very existence as the Inquisition will be at risk! Our authority will be threatened!”

“She will be threatened.” Solas pointed out. “A child is easily kidnapped or killed. What will the Venatori or Red Templars do if they discover that the Inquisitor is so vulnerable?” A dreadful silence filled the room as everyone thought of their quiet, serious Inquisitor, and then her bright, happy child-self. Everyone began speaking at once in a jumbled cacophony.

“It won’t happen.”

“Won’t allow it!”

“Like to see ‘em try!”

“She will be kept safe.”

“Can you speak with your former mentor, Dorian? Convince Alexius to help us cure the Inquisitor? It is only time, and if your research applies-” Josephine asked, but it was Iron Bull who shook his head.

“Bad idea. If we’re dealing with unstable magic, we shouldn’t be throwing more unstable magic at an unstable thing. We might hurt the Boss more.” Bull argued. “We can keep the Inquisitor hidden for a week. Keep her safe.”

“The Inquisitor or Mini-Inquisitor?” Varric asked. “Because I don’t know how much you qunari know about children, but in my experience they get into everything and everyone’s business.”

“Sure, we can keep Big Inky hidden. She ain’t here!” Sera retorted, her expression panicked and slightly hysterical. “Easy to hide what’s not here!”

“She’s taken ill.” Josephine said suddenly. “Very ill. And is stuck in a week long quarantine. No one would dare intrude if we said it was highly infectious.”

“But servants would have to look in after her.” Varric pointed out. “And servants talk.”

“Not necessarily. We’re her closest companions, we can pretend we’re looking after her.” Vivienne said slowly. “It is only a week.”

“And Evelyn?” Cullen asked. “What of her?”

“She is a lost child wandering the Hinterlands. Possibly a relation to the Trevelyan family, but it is uncertain.” Leliana replied. “It is easily done. Inquisitor Trevelyan is ill and in quarantine, and we are caring for a lost child until we can locate her family and return her safely home. All in agreement?”

And because there was no other obvious choice, that was the plan the Inner Circle stood by.

-

Cassandra Pentaghast was not what one would call maternal. She had no softness, no tender mercies. She slayed dragons and defeated demons, and she had no time to be gentle. She loved her romances and love poems, but that was a secret part of her, a part buried under steel and bone. She was not soft, and she was not motherly.

So why was she sitting on the edge of the Inquisitor’s bed, slowly brushing out the tangles from a little girl’s hair and softly telling her a bedtime story?

“What happened to Inspector Donner in the warren of Harding Hill? Do guard bunnies arrest bad bunnies? Where do bad bunnies go?” Evelyn asked sleepily. Half of her hair was braided in a long pigtail, and Cassandra worked through the knots in the other half with a wooden comb.

“Inspector Donner had to investigate the case of the missing cabbages, of course. He was a dedicated officer of the law.” Cassandra replied, her mind frantically thinking of ways to adapt Varric Tethras’s less than child-friendly “Hard In Hightown” to suit a young girl. “Lady Amethyst’s husband was very particular about cabbages, and he had a great collection of them to munch on. Stealing cabbages is a great crime among bunnies.”

“He must have been very upset to have them go missing right under his whiskers.” Evelyn stated solemnly. “Did Inspector Donner catch the thief?”

“That would be spoiling the story, Evelyn.” Cassandra warned as she finally smoothed out the worst of the tangles. She moved on from the wooden comb to the soft bristled brush.

“But I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t know! I will stay up all night wondering!” Evelyn exclaimed, and even though her eyes were heavy with exhaustion her expression was quite earnest. Cassandra sighed.

“Inspector Donner worked very hard to find the thief of the Amethyst Cabbages. He asked a bunny smuggler named… named…”

“Named?”

“Elizabeth.” Cassandra decided. “He asked a bunny smuggler named Elizabeth for help. She was known throughout all of Harding Warren for her talent at stealing vegetables from the human farm across the stream, and Donner knew that she could track down the sale of stolen cabbages.”

“How do bunnies buy and sell things, Seeker Pentaghast?” Evelyn asked.

“They trade, of course.” Cassandra said, trying to imbue her voice with some authority. Maker forgive me for lying to a child, she silently prayed. Evelyn seemed excited by the prospect of bartering bunnies, however.

“Oh! Do they trade clover, you think? The bunnies back home love to nibble on clover flowers! And daisies! And all the vegetables in cook’s garden! They are quite naughty.” She giggled, and let out a yawn. Cassandra quickly braided the rest of her hair and tied it off with a ribbon. Pink, to match the ribbons on her nightdress. Josephine had truly prepared for everything.

“That is enough stories for tonight, Evelyn. You must sleep.” Cassandra ordered, tucking in the covers under Evelyn’s chin.

“Yes, Seeker Pentaghast. Good night.” Evelyn said dutifully. Cassandra blew out the candles and checked on the dying fire in the fireplace. She will be safe, Cassandra told herself. Solas would figure out what was wrong and the Inquisitor would be brought back to them. And until then, this child was their responsibility.

“Seeker Pentaghast?” Evelyn asked as she yawned loudly.

“Yes, Evelyn?” Cassandra answered.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Evelyn’s voice was small and shy in the big room, and Cassandra realized how frightening all this must be for a young girl who had suddenly woken up in the woods surrounded by strangers.

“Of course.” Cassandra was quick to reassure her. “I will still be here in Skyhold. Leliana can send a message to Ostwick for you, and you will be safe and well taken care of here.”

“Can you tell me another story tomorrow?” Evelyn asked. “I think you’re better at storytelling than Nanny.” Evelyn yawned loudly and snuggled deeper into the pillows and blankets. Cassandra marveled at the openness and trust the young girl showed her almost instantly. The Inquisitor had never shown so much faith in her before, but as a child she seemed to trust Cassandra without question.

“If you are good tomorrow, I will continue the story. Good night, Evelyn.” Cassandra murmured, and she shut the door. Young Evelyn’s trust in her would not be betrayed, Cassandra vowed. Cassandra would keep her safe. That was a promise.

-

Leliana was reading her agent’s field reports when a little cough drew her out of her duties. She lifted her head and met the intense gaze of two big, dark brown eyes set in a round face. The Inquisitor. Or, as Varric had taken to calling her, the Mini-Inquisitor. Someone (most likely Josephine) supplied the girl with a small dress made of dark green wool and trimmed with pretty yellow ribbons. Her hair was braided and tied into twin loops with matching yellow ribbons. She looked as harmless as any young child, but she stared at Leliana with solemn eyes that saw too much.

“Good morning, Miss Evelyn.” Leliana said gently. The girl did not jump or shy away, but stood by the doorway looking solemn and sad. 

“Please call me Evelyn. I don’t like being called Miss Evelyn.” Evelyn requested, her voice so soft Leliana could barely hear it over the flapping of feathers and loud shrieks of bird calls.

“Whyever not?” Leliana asked.

“Everyone back home calls me Miss Evelyn when they’re cross with me, or Lady Evelyn when they’re pleased. Most of the time everyone is cross.” Evelyn replied. “They will be more cross when they learn where I am. Seeker Pentaghast says we’re in Ferelden, and that’s an ocean away from home. I must send a letter to Ostwick so someone will fetch me, and everyone will be terribly cross and call me Miss Evelyn for months. I’d like to be just Evelyn for a few days before I’m Miss Evelyn again.”

“I see, Evelyn.” Leliana said slowly. This exchange of words was more personal conversation with the Inquisitor than she had ever had before. She would have never thought that the quiet, solemn Inquisitor Trevelyan was a talkative child. And how had she gotten up here into the rookery without attracting any attention?

“Evelyn is shorter too.” Evelyn added. “And I am very short. It is much more fitting to have a short name for me.” The girl seemed to gain more confidence, and she slowly made her way around crates and roosts to approach Leliana.

“You will grow taller as you grow older.” Leliana assured the girl. Evelyn only shook her head.

“My mother is short too. I’m doomed to be small.” She explained. “But my brothers are all giants, and it isn’t fair! I’ll never win a race against Corwin or Benedict!” She stamped her small foot, as if the indignity of losing a foot race was not to be borne.

“You could win if they tripped.” Leliana pointed out. “Just a small head start will give you a better chance at victory.” Evelyn gaped at her, her dark eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

“That would be cheating!” Evelyn exclaimed. Leliana shrugged.

“If it was not said in the rules, it isn’t cheating yet.” She argued. Evelyn frowned, as if giving the matter serious thought. Leliana finally saw the quiet Inquisitor in the way the little girl’s brow furrowed and how she bit her bottom lip.

“But I would only win once, if I did it that way. My brothers would change the rules after that.” Evelyn replied. “And I wouldn’t be happy if I had to cheat to win.” Her frown only grew deeper, as if the thought of cheating destroyed the triumph that came with a possible victory. 

“Do your brothers make all the rules?” Leliana asked. 

“All the rules Father and Mother haven’t made.” Evelyn said promptly. “You can’t make rules when you’re the youngest.” Leliana sat down and considered what this younger version of the Inquisitor told her.

Leliana had looked into the Inquisitor’s family and past. It served as potential blackmail in case Trevelyan refused to help them close the Breach. The information later became leverage for the Inquisition. So Leliana knew more about House Trevelyan of Ostwick than most. The family motto was “Modest in Temper and Bold in Deed.” She knew of Bann Trevelyan and his wife Callista. She knew of Bann Trevelyan’s mother, the formidable Lady Adelaide DuPont Trevelyan. She knew of six older brothers, all active in trade or politics or the Chantry- and she knew how devout the members of House Trevelyan were as a rule. So devout that when the youngest member and only daughter of the immediate family was discovered to have magic, she was shipped off to the Circle that very afternoon. The local Circle, of course, for you didn’t send family off to the far reaches of Thedas if you could help it, but still. The Circle. What sort of parent willingly sent their child to the Circle? She returned her attention to Evelyn who was looking at the rafters and the ravens perched on them with something akin to wonder on her little face.

“So you wish to defeat your brothers at their own game?” Leliana finally asked.

“Only Corwin and Benedict, because all the others are too old to race me.” Evelyn admitted. “But I don’t want to cheat to do it, even if it’s the easiest way.”

“I suppose you’ll just have to work at being faster.” Leliana said. “It will take hard work, but it can be done.” That seemed to brighten the girl’s mood, and Evelyn gave her a happy smile. And Leliana, spymaster, Nightingale, she who had eyes in every city, smiled back.

-

Josephine Montilyet was experienced with younger siblings. She had several, and managed them much the same way she managed her many visitors and contacts in her office. She gave them tea and cakes and listened, and then made her arrangements and plans as she pleased. But it had been a long time since she had dealt with a child as young as the Inquisitor now was. And to be perfectly honest, Josephine had not spent much time with the Inquisitor beyond dealing with Inquisition matters. So speaking with the young Evelyn Trevelyan was disconcerting to say the least.

“Thank you for the dresses and nightgowns, Lady Montilyet.” Evelyn said politely, standing on the carpet in front of her desk like a child preparing for a scolding or some sort of examination. She stood perfectly straight, hands folded neatly in front of her, hair braided into twin tails and looped up and tied with yellow ribbon. She wore the green wool dress Josephine found and had cut down to proper size so that Evelyn wasn’t running about in a dress three sizes too big for her. She looked every inch the proper young child of nobility, save for the unconscious tapping of her foot. Well, she was only a child. Josephine smiled and was relieved to see that Evelyn smiled back.

“You’re very welcome, Lady Trevelyan.” Josephine said kindly. “Won’t you please have a seat? Leliana and Cassandra informed me that you wish to write a letter home to your family.”

“Evelyn, please. I’m very small and my mother is Lady Trevelyan.” Evelyn replied promptly as she sat down in the overstuffed armchair Josephine provided for her visitors. “And I really should. Mother might not notice, and Father is always busy, and my older brothers are away for schooling, but Corwin and Benedict will know I’m gone, and Nanny will be very upset.”

“I understand you have six older brothers, Evelyn.” Josephine said. “If you wish, you can write letters to them as well to assure them of your safety.” Even if Solas said that Evelyn would be back to her normal self in a week’s time, give or take a day, Josephine was determined to make their temporary visitor’s stay as comfortable as possible. And a little girl in a strange land surrounded by strangers would want to write to her family.

“I don’t know.” Evelyn mumbled, looking down to her feet. They dangled in the air, the seat far too high for her small frame.

“They might be angry.” Evelyn confided. “Maxwell and Robert are at school, and Lawrence is in Orlais studying to be a priest, and Alexander doesn’t respond to anyone’s letters so I don’t know why he would write to me.” Evelyn shrugged then, a tiny movement of her little shoulders, and sighed.

“So I don’t think I should.” Evelyn said. “They are busy and I’m fine.”

Josephine let the girl be silent for a little and pondered over the words. She and the others had marveled over the differences between their Inquisitor and her child-self. It was difficult to see how a talkative, curious girl became the the quiet, self-sufficient young woman who managed her affairs and made few attachments. But Josephine now saw the seeds settling into the dirt that would make Evelyn Trevelyan who she was. Lost in a sea of siblings and relatives too busy to speak with her, no wonder Evelyn became so quiet. No wonder she didn’t connect with anyone. There was never anyone to truly connect to! And while Josephine knew this would never change the past, she could do something now to make the child in front of her a little happier, a little less withdrawn.

“I have siblings. Brothers and a sister, all younger than me.” Josephine said gently. Evelyn turned her face up, her expression one of mild surprise. Josephine smiled down at her.

“You do?” Evelyn asked in a hushed whisper.

“Yes.” Josephine replied. “And if they ever needed me, no matter the reason, I would want to know. I love them dearly and want them safe and happy. Nothing they needed would ever trouble me.” For her family, Josephine would do anything. And from the way the young girl’s eyes filled with tears, Josephine had a feeling that Evelyn felt the same way.

-

Cullen’s entire body ached from the moment he got out of bed that morning. At first he wondered if it was the lack of lyrium that was once again tearing him apart, but he quickly dismissed it. Different sort of head pain. And then the memories came back in a rush: Cassandra’s cryptic note, her riding into the gates clutching a bundle, the barefooted child cheerfully greeting them- Inquisitor Trevelyan, reverted back to childhood. And now they had to wait for the Fade magic to run its course so that the defenseless child would once again become a rather frightening Knight Enchanter and Thedas’s best chance at survival.

Magic must have been the Maker’s idea of a great joke, but Cullen wasn’t laughing.

He sipped some tea and grimaced at the bitterness of the brew. It’s good for you, he told himself. Drink it. So he sipped some more and walked to clear his head. Somehow his feet found their way to the garden and the chessboard he had placed down there for some entertainment. Perhaps he would sit down at the board and relax a little. Challenge a passerby to a game if they felt like it. There were more than enough chess enthusiasts among the Inquisition members, someone would be eager to play. Pleased with his plan, Cullen put it into action.

Cullen had played a game with Jim, one of his scouts, and exchanged some banter with Dorian as he walked by. He tried to tempt the man with a game, but Dorian hurried away to his library and Cullen sat alone again. At least the weather was pleasant, Cullen thought as he shut his eyes and the mountain breeze whipped at his face. Perhaps he should spend more time out of his office and just take a moment to breathe.

“Hello, Commander Cullen.” A quiet, high pitched voice said shyly. While the voice was unfamiliar to his ears, the address was familiar. Inquisitor Trevelyan was always formal with him, so it was no great surprise to learn that that formality had been drilled into her since childhood. Cullen opened his eyes and turned his head to see the Inquisitor. Mini-Inquisitor, as Varric called her. Someone had found her clothes and done up her hair, so she hardly looked like the bare-footed waif that came riding in two nights ago. She wore blue, and someone had found a small cloak trimmed with fur for her to wear. Leliana and Josephine had taken great pleasure in dressing the girl up in finery, and Cassandra said the child had spent the last two days writing letters to all her family to let them know that she was safe and in Skyhold. Leliana kept the letters in a locked chest in her quarters, and planned to return them to the Inquisitor when she was her adult self again. She had spent the last two days rather occupied, Cullen thought. So what was the girl doing wandering the gardens without supervision?

“Lady Trevelyan, how do you do?” Cullen asked politely. The girl frowned slightly.

“Just Evelyn. My mother is Lady Trevelyan.” Evelyn replied, and she lifted her hand and pointed to the chess board. “Are you going to play a game?”

“As soon as I find an opponent.” Cullen replied, and the solemn expression melted away from Evelyn’s features. She grinned and nearly hopped in place, suddenly animated.

“I can play!” The girl said excitedly, eyes flashing brightly as she hurried to the board. Then she stopped herself, stood stiffly, folded her hands in front of her, lowered her gaze demurely, returned to that polite shadow that Cullen was far more familiar with.

“That is, I know how to play a little. You would probably prefer a greater challenge.” Evelyn said dully, as if she was reciting some sort of lesson. She probably was, Cullen realized. Was this false modesty, or shame at her eagerness to play? Cullen couldn’t say. A child of nobility would have lessons on top of lessons, and all those lessons made Inquisitor Trevelyan what she was. But right now, all Cullen saw was a child who wanted to play and felt ashamed for it.

“Nonsense.” Cullen said firmly, and he gestured to the empty seat across from him. “I enjoy playing, no matter who my opponent is.” And when Evelyn grinned and sat down in the chair, Cullen knew he did the right thing. He graciously gave her the white pieces and let her play the first move. She was a careful player, someone who considered every move, and she was cautious. Too cautious, Cullen thought, and he saw several opportunities to quickly end the game appear. Sacrifice the queen, get the king. Use a knight and pawn to put the king in checkmate. But he let the game continue. He was curious, and the Inquisitor was a talkative child. He had never had such a long conversation with her before. It was… interesting.

She spoke of home and of her six older brothers. Cullen thought he had a brood of siblings, but six sounded unbearable! She spoke of an older brother named Lawrence who taught her chess and another older brother, Alexander, who joined the Templar Order. She chatted animatedly about the few times her brothers saw her, all of them too busy at schools in other cities or with their tutors to speak with a young girl of eight. But she clearly adored all of her brothers, and her conversation had the strange effect of making Cullen feel a little homesick. 

“He doesn’t write to us. Are Templars allowed to write to their families?” Evelyn asked. “Seeker Pentaghast said you were a Templar once, so you would know.”

“It is discouraged. Templars should be devoted to the Order and their duties.” Cullen explained. “But he could write a letter to you. He should.” Perhaps it was a little hypocritical of him to say. Cullen was not known for writing letters. Mia hounded him enough about his less than exemplary communication skills. Yet it was different with Evelyn, Cullen thought. She’s just a child. He knew it was only temporary, but seeing a little girl mourn the absence of her older brothers did strange things to his heartstrings.

“I hope he won’t be cross. He and Father fight all the time, and I don’t want to nag him like Mother does. She doesn’t like it when people ignore her, so she always tries to get everyone’s attention by shrieking and fainting.” Evelyn explained, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“That sounds difficult.” Cullen said diplomatically. It sounded like trouble that he had no time to deal with. What did you do with fainting noblewomen? Swooning was for cheap novels, and he had no time to play hero when there was real work to do. It was a pleasant surprise to find that the Inquisitor held (or once held) the same view.

“She doesn’t really faint. I’ve seen people really faint. Their eyes roll back and they sway, and then they just fall! Like a tree!” Evelyn confided, eagerly spilling out secrets like a fountain. “Mother just wails and slowly crumples like a napkin, and she always does it where someone can catch her. She’s a faker.” She then blushed right to the roots of her dark hair and lowered her gaze to the chessboard.

“That was rude of me. You won’t tell Lady Montilyet or Madame Vivienne, will you? They say my diplomacy needs improvement.” Her dark eyes were as large and pleading as a puppy’s, and Cullen couldn’t help but smile and indulge her request.

“My lips are sealed.” Cullen promised.

-

The magic was slowly draining from her body, Solas thought with some satisfaction. Not her magic, of course. Being in the form of a child, that magic lay dormant within her. They were all fortunate. Solas had an idea of what the demons were trying to do to Inquisitor Trevelyan. He had seen it before, before he went to sleep. Spirits who desired power, more power to feed on and grow stronger from, would take a powerful mage, reverse their age, turn back what once was to what had been, make them young, younger, younger still until they were an infant. Once in that state, helpless and full of dormant potential, the demons would feed. He had thought that knowledge was lost to the world, but evidently not. Spirits remembered what people did not, and Solas would have rather such terrible knowledge be forgotten. They were all fortunate that that had not come to pass, Solas thought as he turned Evelyn’s hands over and inspected them one last time. A few more days, he thought, and the spirit’s magic would drain from her completely, and Evelyn the child would be Inquisitor Trevelyan once again.

“There. Your knee has been bandaged and you are well. Take a little more care when racing through the courtyard.” Solas pronounced gravely. Evelyn grinned and hopped off his desk. Her twin braids bounced on her shoulders, the cheery pink ribbons bright in her dark hair.

“Thank you, Messere Solas!” She said cheerfully. “I like your room. I wish I could paint on my walls back home.” She gazed wistfully at the half finished stucco murals, eyes darting from painting to painting.

“It is an old art I picked up.” Solas lied easily. “To document the Inquisition’s progress.” It would not be finished until Corypheus was finished, and things were put to rights again. He must document his mistakes and how they were fixed before moving on to other works.

“Everyone talks about the Inquisitor, but I haven’t met her. I met her cat, but not her.” Evelyn said. The Inquisitor’s cat, a lithe, half wild creature Inquisitor Trevelyan found in Haven, had taken to escorting young Evelyn around Skyhold, always purring and rubbing her body on the girl’s legs. Others may not recognize the Inquisitor in her youth, but her cat knew her mistress well enough.

“The Inquisitor is ill at the moment, and no one is to disturb her.” Solas explained. “But she will be pleased to know that Blackberry has been looking after you.” The cat, who never descended down the steps into his lair and always stared at him with yellow eyes that looked like lamps, twitched her tail and meowed imperiously.

“She’s a funny cat.” Evelyn said. “She nibbles on my hair.”

“Perhaps she thinks you are a kitten and need to be groomed.” Solas replied, and he couldn’t help but grin mischievously. “Is that a piece of straw hanging from your gown, Evelyn?”

“Noooooo.” Evelyn said slowly, plucking the straw off her sleeve. “Not anymore it’s not.”

“Were you in the stables again?” Solas asked, though he already knew the answer. Inquisitor Trevelyan was always quiet, so most people had no idea where she was at any given time, but Solas always kept an eye out on everyone’s activities around Skyhold. Inquisitor Trevelyan split much of her time between the infirmary and the stables, either brewing potions or caring for horses and other mounts. It was no surprise that her child-self was drawn to the stables.

“Horsemaster Dennet was taking care of a halla!” Evelyn explained. “I’ve never seen a halla outside of a storybook, and Nanny said they were beautiful with great antlers! I had to see!”

“Were they everything you hoped they would be?” Solas asked.

“Even better!” Evelyn exclaimed. “Her eyes were so expressive, and she seems so intelligent. Like she knows what you’re thinking.”

“Halla are intelligent creatures.” Solas agreed. “It is best to treat them well, for they remember any slights against them.” Halla were protective, and he thought of another time, another place, another person, and another halla. The first halla. Evelyn seemed lost in her thoughts of the halla in the stables, and did not notice Solas’s pensive mood.

“I would visit her again, but Seeker Pentaghast was quite cross that I ran off without informing anyone of my whereabouts.” Evelyn said, and her lower lip jutted out slightly as her brow wrinkled. Pouting. Inquisitor Trevelyan, serene and quiet and never one to complain about anything (even a Mark that was slowly tearing her apart), was pouting! Solas wondered if he should record the moment for posterity.

“She has promised to keep you safe during your stay at Skyhold.” Solas replied gently. “Cassandra takes her vows seriously.”

“I’m not sneaking out of the walls!” Evelyn explained, and it was perilously close to whining. “Just the stables! It’s safe!” Safe, of course, was a matter of opinion. Solas saw some of the mounts Dennet kept in his care, and even he was wary of a few of them. A small human child of eight could be crushed to death by a horse, never mind what could happen if she came across a hungry dracolisk.

“So long as you let others know where you are, I believe your trips to the stables will be permitted.” Solas informed her. “Cassandra is reasonable.”

“She won’t be reasonable if she knows I tripped in the stables.” Evelyn muttered. “She’ll be more cross than Nanny.”

“It is a secret between us, then.” Solas promised solemnly, and Evelyn grinned and held out her hand.

“Promise?” Evelyn asked, and she clearly expected Solas to take her hand and shake on it. After a moment, he took the offered hand, small and without the familiar callousses that were Inquisitor Trevelyan’s. They may be the same people, but without the years, experiences, and memories that made the Inquisitor the Inquisitor, he was dealing with a completely different person. How experience changes us all, Solas thought.

“I promise.” Solas murmured.

-

Varric knew about his little visitor at least twenty minutes before she made her presence known to him. She had been watching from the balcony up above as he scribbled out notes for his book. How would he title this latest development? Raising an Inquisitor? It wasn’t as if Mini-Inquisitor needed much raising, despite the best efforts of Seeker and Ruffles. The girl was fiercely independent, and more than a little manipulative. Unknowingly manipulative, Varric thought as he scribbled the word down. Little Evelyn didn’t seem to realize that when she turned her big brown eyes up at people and politely asked for “one more story” or “just one visit to the stables, please” everyone scrambled to fulfill her wishes. Even Curly had become her champion, and Varric never thought he’d see the stern Templar grin and listen to someone chatter on about horses and chess.

“Seeker Pentaghast says you write stories, Messere Tethras.” Evelyn’s voice piped up, and when Varric looked down from his desk he was surprised to meet those big brown eyes he was just describing. How had she moved so quickly?

“We’ve got to get you a bell, Ribbons.” Varric muttered.

“Ribbons?” The girl repeated slowly, as if confused. She looked confused, her head tilted slightly to one side, her eyebrows drawn into a little V shape.

“Nickname. Thought you could use one.” Varric said, and he realized that he had never given the Inquisitor a nickname. She was just Inquisitor. Not the most creative of names, now that Varric thought about it. A bit embarrassing, too. Everyone called her that. He should have put a little more effort into coming up with a nickname for the woman.

“Oh.” Evelyn murmured. “I’ve never had a nickname before.”

“Everyone needs a nickname, Ribbons.” Varric replied. “And you’ve been around here long enough to earn one.” Evelyn tugged on one of her braids and stared at the little pink ribbon tied at the end.

“So, what did you want to talk about, Ribbons?” Varric asked, casually shutting his notebook closed before Evelyn could sneak a peek at it. Evelyn didn’t even seem to notice. She smiled happily and took a seat on a wooden stool nearby.

“Seeker Pentaghast has been telling me bedtime stories, Messere Tethras, but it is a frustrating experience. She always stops at the most intense parts and tells me to go to bed! I stay up wondering what could possibly happen next, and I can’t find out until the next night!” Evelyn explained. “I thought that you could convince her to tell more of the story before she stops every evening.”

Huh. The Seeker telling a child bedtime stories? That was new. Varric wondered what sort of tales Cassandra Pentaghast would tell a little girl. Probably some dull Chantry sermon on propriety and obedience, Varric thought. Poor Ribbons probably thought it was fun because she was deprived. She probably never heard a proper story before in her life!

“So what’s she been telling you, Ribbons?” Varric asked, and Evelyn dove into an animated retelling of her bedtime stories, stories full of a warren of talking rabbits, a detective seeking stolen cabbages, a daring bunny smuggler, a grim badger with funny white marks on his snout, a talkative cat who only ate fish and fought with the badger daily- and Varric soon realized that he knew this story intimately. He wrote it! He nearly burst out in laughter as Evelyn imitated Maker damned _Fenris_ while she talked about Rensif the Badger and his disagreements with Sarend the Cat. She even got the way Fenris always tilted his head just right- so either his descriptions were very good, or Cassandra was a better storyteller than Varric thought.

Cassandra had taken his work, Hard in Hightown, and made it a children’s tale. Varric grinned as he thought of the Seeker trying to make his story more palatable for a young girl. And, he thought with grudging admiration, she had managed it well enough. Evelyn was utterly enchanted with the characters and the world, and had many questions about how bunnies and forest creatures could trade goods without people noticing.

“Seeker Pentaghast says its because people aren’t very observant.” Evelyn confided. “And that animals are very careful.”

“If the Seeker says that, it’s probably true.” Varric replied.

“So will you talk to her?” Evelyn asked. “And convince her to tell longer stories?”

“I’ll see what I can do, Ribbons.” Varric promised. “Though I loathe critiquing another storyteller’s methods.”

“Thank you, Messere Tethras!” Evelyn enthused, bouncing off the stool and racing to the door. “I knew I could count on you!” And then she was gone, likely off to blink her big brown eyes at Curly and convince him to play chess with her or something. The girl had him wrapped around her finger. Truth be told, she had a knack for getting everyone on her side. Must be that precocious child trope, Varric thought, and he jotted that down in his notes. Precocious child, big puppy eyes.

“Varric, have you seen Evelyn?” Cassandra demanded as she burst into his room nearly an hour later, and Varric’s mouth twisted into a smug smirk.

“Oh, she came by a little while ago, Seeker. She told me a few interesting tales.” Varric replied, his grin widening when Cassandra glared down at him. “Why don’t you take a seat and tell me all about the rabbits in Harding Warren?” And when Cassandra’s face turned a shade of purple red reserved for beets, Varric laughed.

-

Sera planned to keep her distance from Inky. Magic was always a bit creepy, and magic made Inky tiny and she had no memories, absolutely nothing that made her her, and so magic had gone from being just a bit creepy to the fucking creepiest thing, creepier than giant spiders and nobles plotting assassinations and demons. It was just creepy, and Sera didn’t deal with creepy. She was going to stay far away from all this creepy magic crap.

But Inky was so tiny, and so proper and fancy-like that Sera couldn’t help but poke at her just a little. Not in a mean way, just in a way to get her to play and have fun like a kid does. Not that Little Evelyn Prissy Pants understood that- never had fun in her life, that one! So Sera has a new task, a new mission, a purpose of sorts- get little Inky to have a bit of fun.

“Sera? Sera, I got the jam!” Evelyn whispered, sneaking into the rafters and holding out a jar like an offering. Sera snatched it up and read the label. Skyhold’s cook had a thick, even hand, and the words were easy to read even in the dim half-light of the tavern attic.

“Peach Lavender Jam? Fancy.” Sera remarked before stuffing the jar into the purse she slung across her shoulder. Evelyn carefully sat down on a rafter, arranging her skirts over her skinny legs. Prissy Pants Josie dressed Inky in a dress as red as tomatoes, trimmed with some sort of fur. She even had a tiny cape with a big bow, and someone braided Inky’s hair into a long braid and pinned it like a crown. A little red ribbon ran through the braid. She looked like a right noble prick, but little noble brats didn’t steal jars of jam for friends. Little Evelyn was alright, much to Sera’s surprised delight. Quiet, respectable Inky would never steal jam! Or, at least, Sera didn’t think she would. She never bothered to ask.

“It was the only one I could reach. I wish I was taller.” Evelyn stated. “I couldn’t reach the sugar biscuits or tea cakes, so I grabbed some extra scones from breakfast.” She unfolded a fancy white handkerchief edged with lace and handed Sera a crumbling scone. She stuck that into the pouch as well.

“These are good eating, Lynn-y.” Sera replied, and she crawled over to a tiny window looking out over the courtyard. She opened the latch and pushed the window open, and the busy sounds of all of Skyhold entered the attic of Herald’s Rest.

“C’mon, it’s nice outside.” Sera said, and when Evelyn hesitated she rolled her eyes. “I’ll make sure you don’t fall, Lynn-y. Don’t you want to have some fun and enjoy yourself?” She scrambled out and held onto the wooden beams while sticking her slippered feet into little crevices between the stone. She pulled herself onto the roof, and then leaned down over the edge. Evelyn was poking her head out of the window, and looked up at Sera with wide eyes.

“That is high up.” Evelyn said hesitantly. Sera reached down and held out her hands.

“Just reach out, I can pull you up.” Sera ordered. Inky was such a tiny thing, and she was easy to pick up when she was full grown. It would be a piece of cake to lift Mini-Inky up onto the roof. Evelyn hesitantly stepped out of the window, clinging to the wall and carefully shuffling over to reach Sera’s hand. She reached one hand up, and then offered the other hand. Sera grabbed them both and hoisted the girl up onto the roof. Her red skirt fluttered in the breeze like a flag.

“There we go! Nice and high!” Sera crowed. “Now we feast!”

The two of them clambered up towards the ridge of the roof, up above the trees in the courtyard. When they sat down, Sera took out the jam jar and the scone, and then a tiny dagger. She spread the peach jam on top of the scone and took a big bite. Evelyn carefully followed her example, though she took tiny bites of her scone.

“I can see the stables from here!” Evelyn remarked, pointing towards the stables. There were several horses out in the corral, trotting about and shaking their heads.

“You can see the garden too.” Sera replied. “At least, you can see the trees.” The fluffy tops of the trees emerged from the grey stone walls surrounding the garden, like they were flowers or vegetables in a stone box. Or something. Sera liked to leave the fancy talk to people like Varric.

“It’s nice to be up here.” Evelyn finally said, wiping the crumbs off her skirt. It was hiked up above her knees, and Evelyn scrambled further up the roof. She used the chimney as support and stood up. Sera kept a close eye out, but did not follow her. Inky just wanted a moment to explore, that’s all. It was like she had been kept on a leash or something- what sort of kid never climbed up on a roof before?

“High spots like this let you know when someone’s coming. Then you can stick ‘em if they’re a baddie.” Sera explained. “See them scouts? When you’re up high and it’s dark, you spot ‘em before they spot you.”

“I see.” Evelyn said quietly. “I don’t hide at home. Most people don’t notice me unless they have to.” She was getting maudlin again. Sera noticed that Evelyn got moody when she thought of home. She tried to think of games- word games, throwing games- ah!

“I spy, with my little eyes, something red.” Sera said, spotting a certain grumpy warrior drilling recruits in the training yard. Evelyn picked at the fabric of her dress.

“My dress?” She guessed, and Sera laughed.

“Noooo, try looking out a little further!”

“The tree? The maple next to the chapel!” Evelyn pointed to said tree, and Sera shook her head.

“Try again! A little further out!” Sera encouraged before taking another bite of her scone. The jam oozed out onto her fingers and she licked them clean.

“Mmmm…” Evelyn squinted and stared further. “The roses in the blue vase on Madame Vivienne's breakfast table!” Sera looked at the roses, which were red, and was a little sad that she hadn’t thought of that. It was a good guess.

“Not quite, it’s a little closer to us than that.” Sera admitted. When Evelyn looked down she finally saw the training grounds.

“Oh! You mean Commander Cullen’s surcoat!” Evelyn exclaimed.

“Right! General Uptight and his fancy feathers- reckon he’s got to have a spare somewhere, so I might nick that one for myself.” Sera mused. Soft fur, warm fabric, probably got some reinforcement and would make decent armor-

“It is very fluffy.” Evelyn agreed sagely. “Maybe you can ask if you can borrow it?”

“Yeah, borrow.” Sera giggled. “I’m a good borrower.”

“Oh, Commander Cullen’s looking up! Hello Commander Cullen!” Evelyn called cheerfully, and Sera had the great pleasure of watching Captain Grumpy Pants turn bone white and age at least a decade when he caught sight of mini-Inky on top of the roof.

This is worth a week of lectures, Sera thought smugly. Worth it!

-

“You gave Commander Cullen quite the scare, climbing up that tavern roof.” Vivienne scolded, her voice firm. When Commander Cullen came into her domain, clutching little Evelyn’s arm in one hand, he deposited the girl on Vivienne’s lounge and told Vivienne in a hoarse voice to “watch her before she breaks her Maker cursed neck!” The poor man quickly left her chambers, and Vivienne suspected he was going to have a nice, long chat with Sera, that incorrigible menace.

“Yes Madam.” Young Evelyn Trevelyan said meekly. Vivienne looked at the girl, properly looked at her. Everything about her screamed “young lady of quality,” but what sort of proper young girl clambered up tavern roofs and gave former Templars heart attacks?

“It was irresponsible of you.” Vivienne stated.

“Yes Madam.” Evelyn agreed, bowing her head.

“And completely inappropriate of a young lady of your rank and upbringing.” Vivienne, Madame de Fer, the Iron Lady of Orlais, said firmly. “Your skirts were flying over your legs, as naked as the day you were born. I expect a young girl of your status to deport herself better.”

“Yes Madam.” Evelyn whispered, and she was hunching into herself.

“My dear, stop slouching!” Vivienne ordered, and the girl’s spine straightened abruptly. “I am scolding you because you put yourself in danger and nearly put poor Cullen into convulsions!” Vivienne shuddered when she thought of what Cassandra would do once she heard of Evelyn’s little adventure. At some point during this trying week, Cassandra had appointed herself as young Evelyn’s chief guardian. She was going to strangle someone or stab something.

“Is he terribly cross?” Evelyn asked, her voice still meek.

“I could not say.” Vivienne replied. Cullen looked more terrified than angry. Evelyn would probably give the man a tearful, sincere apology and be instantly forgiven. But she could not say the same for Sera. Cullen was going to verbally rip her to shreds.

“It’s not Sera’s fault.” Evelyn insisted, obviously coming to the same conclusion that Vivienne had. “It’s mine. So- so if anyone should be in trouble, it’s me. You can send me to bed without supper, or lock me in my room, or- or put me in the dungeons for the night, but I should bear the punishment!” Her lower lip quivered, but she held her head up high. Yes, there was that noble training, Vivienne thought. It wasn’t completely lost. And if the child had it, no doubt the grown version had it buried inside her as well. Finding the spark that made the noble character come to life was the trick.

“Your loyalty is touching, Lady Evelyn Trevelyan.” Vivienne said dryly. “But the dramatics are unnecessary. Now sit down, we have much to discuss.”

“We do?” Evelyn asked.

“Indeed.” Vivienne replied. “You education is clearly lacking if you believe a little bit of foolishness is worthy of imprisonment in the dungeons. Someone has been filling your head with romantic twaddle, my dear, and that simply won’t do.”

If you wanted things done properly, Vivienne thought grimly, you had to do them yourself. Educating a young noblewoman would hardly be the most trying task she had ever taken. And the results would be magnificent. She was working with good material. Evelyn gingerly sat down on the lounge, prepared for the worst.

“I believe the first lesson of the day will be learning when and how to push the boundaries of accepted behavior.” Vivienne said crisply. “You have already shown a propensity for acting outside of those boundaries. You might as well learn proper ways of doing it.”

If young Evelyn Trevelyan was so determined to break rules and tradition, Vivienne thought, she would learn how to do so properly!

-

Blackwall heard the childish giggles before he saw the girl darting around, playing with her cat with a piece of string. The cat batted at the string with her paws, dancing about and hunting with a skill that bespoke much practice with the real thing. The string was a bright green, and Blackwall smiled. Evelyn had taken one of her hair ribbons out of her elaborate braid so she could entertain her cat. The child was just like the grown woman.

“I hear you got in quite a bit of trouble yesterday, Chickadee.” Blackwall called out, and after a moment of silence Evelyn snuck into his workspace, holding Blackberry in her arms and smiling sheepishly.

“A little. Commander Cullen was very cross.” Evelyn said. “And I am very sorry I made him worry.” She did look the picture of contrition, eyes lowered and expression regretful.

“From what I understand, he was very worried.” Blackwall replied. He took out a piece of pine wood and slowly began to whittle something out of the little block. Evelyn set her cat down, and the cat wandered through the area, looking for mice to hunt or a sunbeam to lie in.

“He apologized for yelling at me. Commander Cullen said he shouldn’t have lost his temper and apologized!” Evelyn added as she hoisted herself up onto a stool. “No one has ever apologized for yelling before. Not at me. I always make people cross.”

“I can’t imagine why.” Blackwall said. “You seem like a proper young lady to me.”

“Mother says I’m… what was the word… irredeemable.” Evelyn said the word slowly, as if savoring it. “I drive her to fits, she says. Once I got mud from the gardens on my clean white petticoats and Mother had to take out her smelling salts.”

“Seems your mother has a weak constitution.” Blackwall said gruffly. “Children are supposed to get dirty, Chickadee.”

“Mother says I’m a trial for her nerves.” Evelyn confided. “But being here, I don’t think I’m such a naughty girl anymore. Lady Montilyet and Madame Vivienne are stricter about deportment than Mother, and they haven’t fainted once!”

“You never know.” Blackwall teased. “They could do it when you’re not watching.”

“No. I’m sure. I don’t think Madame Vivienne knows how to even fake a faint! Or that she would.” Evelyn replied. She swung her legs back and forth as she chattered on, and Blackwall found himself relaxing back and just listening, letting his hands and knife continue to carve. Calming. Listening to so much chatter was calming. Who would have guessed?

“I want to be a lady like Lady Montilyet or Madame Vivienne someday.” Evelyn confided. “Someone who isn’t scared of what other people think. But I also want to be strong and tell good stories, like Seeker Pentaghast or Messere Tethras. And be very smart, like Lady Leliana or Messere Solas. And fun, like Sera and Iron Bull! And clever, like Messere Dorian! And I want to be dependable like Commander Cullen, or you!”

“That’s… sweet of you, Chickadee.” Blackwall said gruffly. Dependable? No one could depend on him, not a man who stole a name and a life- but when this little girl looked at him, so trusting and self-assured, Blackwall wanted to be what she thought he was.

“Well, get over here and tell me what you’d like me to carve you.” Blackwall ordered. He may not have been dependable in the past, but the future? Well, Blackwall could become someone this child and the Inquisitor could rely on.

-

“Careful there, Tiny Boss.” Iron Bull said when he saw Evelyn clambering up a tower of crates near the tavern. “Cullen will have my hide if you fall.” 

“I’m fine!” Evelyn chirped back. “I’m just getting my nug back!”

“Your nug?” Iron Bull repeated. When did she get a nug? Who gave her a nug? As someone who lived and died by their observational skills, Iron Bull couldn’t believe he missed seeing the Inquisitor getting a pet nug. And how did she prevent the cat from murdering the nug?

“Krem made me a nug!” Evelyn replied. “He has wings! But Blackberry likes him so she takes him places and hides him. Then she gets mad and I have to find the nug for her.” She explained it all as if cats demanding toy nugs was a normal, everyday incident. Perhaps in Ostwick it was, but he doubted it. Having a cat seemed brand new to the tiny Inquisitor.

Iron Bull was fairly certain everything in Skyhold was a refreshing experience for Evelyn. The girl was so thrilled at the very idea that she could walk anywhere without an escort that she had taken to wandering the entire keep. She ended up in the strangest places, and both Cassandra and Cullen were at their wits end trying to keep the girl inside the walls and out of trouble. So Bull was keeping his eye out for the girl when she slipped away from her protectors.

“Sounds complicated. You sure you don’t need help?” Iron Bull asked. Evelyn shook her head and resumed looking. She held up a pink stuffed toy in her clenched fist and hurried to scramble down from the crates. There was the sound of tearing fabric as she slid down, and when Evelyn reached the ground she stared, wide eyed and horrified, at the torn hem of her sky blue skirt.

“Oh.” She said softly. She bit her lip and stared at the fabric. Her big dark eyes welled up with tears, and while she didn’t cry she certainly looked moments away from it. Iron Bull wasn’t one to cry over some torn clothing, but he also wasn’t going to leave some kid out with a torn up fancy dress.

“C’mon, Little Boss.” Iron Bull said gently. “If Krem can sew you a nug, he can fix your dress for you.”

“He can?” Evelyn asked, blinking the tears out of her eyes.

“It’s no trouble.” Iron Bull replied, and he hoped he was right.

Minutes later the Chargers were all gathered around their customary table in the main room of the Herald’s Rest. Krem had his head bent over his work, repairing the torn up hem as Evelyn anxiously watched him.

“Chief, what sort of mischief was the little lady getting into this time?” Krem asked as he made a small, silver needle dart in and out of the fabric like a fish in water. “More importantly, why didn’t you stop her?”

“It wasn’t Iron Bull’s fault!” Evelyn replied, swinging her feet in the air. She wore her petticoats and shift, and someone (Bull suspected Dalish) had wrapped a blanket around her. Stitches made her tea, and even Skinner patted her head and said that if shem children dressed more sensibly there would be far less mending to do on their clothing.

“Children need to learn some independence. I asked if I could help, she said no, and I’m not about to contradict the Little Boss.” Bull said. He reached a hand out and ruffled Evelyn’s hair, and Evelyn looked up at him and grinned.

“Thank you, Iron Bull. I like doing things on my own. I am sorry I ripped my dress, Lady Montilyet worked very hard to find it for me. I don’t mean to be naughty, it just happens!” Evelyn said. “I think it would be far easier to move and play if I could wear breeches.”

“That’s easy enough to do. I can get your measurements and sew up something simple.” Krem replied absently as he tied off the blue silk thread and cut it. “Stand up, Let me see where the hem falls.” Evelyn obeyed, and Krem clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth.

“It’s too long for you, little lady. That’s why it ripped. You probably stepped on it.” Krem gestured for a box of pins and began to pin the hem.

“Oh?” Evelyn tilted her head slightly. “So it wasn’t me being clumsy?”

“Happens all the time. Even fine grownup ladies step on their hems.” Krem replied. “Remember when we were in Val Royeux and that old Orlesian woman stepped on the hem of her rival’s gown in court, Chief?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Iron Bull replied. It was simple security detail. They had to prevent any assassinations that night at a birthday ball, and while no one died there were several reputations ruined beyond repair. It was an eventful evening, and after it was over Bull concluded that Orlesians were just fucking weird.

“Really?” Evelyn asked. “A grand Orlesian lady?”

“They held their noses up so high they could only see the ceiling.” Iron Bull said, and he began to tell the story of the two ancient Orlesian women following each other throughout the night, trying to artfully step on the hems of the other’s dress while looking perfectly innocent. He would imitate the grand ladies and the way they walked while the other Chargers hooted with glee and teased, shouting suggestions and adding bits to the story. Krem would occasionally drop his work to cover Evelyn’s ears and hiss that a child was present and that everyone should mind their tongues. Evelyn, however, was delighted, and she clapped her hands and cheered when Iron Bull grabbed a bit of paper and fluttered it in front of his face like a fan.

When Krem had finally finished stitching her hem and even repaired the winged nug, Evelyn jumped off the table and twirled.

“It’s perfect!” She exclaimed. “Thank you, Krem!” She gave Krem a hug and then, quite impulsively, flung her tiny arms around Iron Bull’s leg. She was probably trying for the waist, but she was so small and he was so large that she just didn’t quite reach the waist. Iron Bull carefully ruffled her hair. Children were- well, the Qun was very particular about who could interact with children and how, and Iron Bull was Ben-Hassrath. Hissrad. Spy. A Tamassran dealt with children, not him. And this child would one day become a mage. Bas Saarebas, a dangerous thing. But right now, she was a child. And watching her cradle a toy nug and eagerly ask about Orlesian balls and haughty old women made Iron Bull wonder if a saarebas was as dangerous as the Qun said. 

Dalish was well trained and followed the rules in the Chargers. She had her own guide. The bas mages, the Vints and the Southerners, they did not have the same devotion, the same guides. They had no control. Yet seeing a young Inquisitor Trevelyan before she became a mage and a great warrior made Iron Bull truly doubt.

If the Qun was wrong about mages like Dalish and Evelyn, what else could it be wrong about?

-

“Dorian!” Evelyn exclaimed. “That is not what the poem says!” She pointed at the page and the segment Dorian had glossed over, and Dorian chuckled. Observant little chit, Dorian thought, but he wouldn’t change it.

“And who exactly is telling this story, little miss? You or me?” Dorian teased. Evelyn pouted impressively, an expression that would have never graced the elder Evelyn’s face. 

“You.” Evelyn reluctantly admitted. “But you don’t need to make up things or skip parts of the story!”

“Little Tyrant.” Dorian teased, but he dutifully turned back to the previous page and began to read a rather silly poem from his childhood, where a large group of different birds gathered together in their own Magisterium to debate the merits of love. He was translating the work as he read, and while it lost the rhyme and meter the work did not lose its humor. Evelyn seemed utterly enchanted by it.

Dorian was surprised at the joy he found in spending time with his friend’s child self. She was a bit of a troublemaker with a love for games and stories and a thirst for adventure. They could have been childhood friends, had she grown up in Qarinus or he in Ostwick. But if she had grown up in Qarinus, it was likely that they would be engaged, and that- Dorian suppressed a shudder. He cared for his friend. They had traveled through time together, experienced a horrifying future that no one else remembered or would ever know. But he would never marry her. Besides, she deserved better. But friendship. Friendship was good.

“Are storks truly the rulers of all birds?” Evelyn asked. Dorian shrugged.

“It depends on where you’re from, I suspect. The Orlesians say swans are the true nobility of the avian world, and the Fereldens say eagles and hawks. Antivans have their crows, of course, and in Tevinter it’s the stork. There are legends that claim that storks live for hundreds of years.” Dorian explained. “Such a long lived bird surely must be wise, and therefore are considered the true rulers of the skies.”

“I thought owls were supposed to be the wise ones.” Evelyn remarked. 

“Have you ever seen an owl’s eyes?” Dorian asked. Evelyn shook her head.

“They’re enormous. Big as tea saucers. Not a lot of space in their tiny heads for a big brain, with those eyes taking up so much room.” Dorian continued. “Not exactly suited for leadership, owls.”

“Leaders aren’t always the wisest.” Evelyn murmured. “History has bad rulers. Bad kings and queens, and many of them were clever. It isn’t enough to be wise.”

“No.” Dorian agreed. “No, it isn’t.” How many times had the Imperium almost crumbled to ruin because of a leader with more bravado than sense? Too many times. He may disagree with his countrymen, he may want to change the way Tevinter ran itself, but Dorian loved his homeland. He cared deeply for it and its people. But wisdom alone was not enough to save them.

“My father is considered wise.” Evelyn said softly. “But Maxwell says he is too proud. That his pride is his great failing.”

“Maxwell?” Dorian asked.

“My eldest brother. He and Father fight a lot.” Evelyn explained. “I sometimes listen to them argue by climbing into the room above Father’s office and pressing my ear to the floor.”

“Sneaky.” Dorian replied. “I would do much the same, though I hid in the passageways built between the rooms.” They were escape routes for the family and household, in case assassins were sent to destroy them. Dorian knew of them from a young age, and he often used them to sneak about the house unnoticed when he was young.

“I wish we had secret passages back home!” Evelyn exclaimed. “I would use them all the time! I could sneak around and surprise everyone!”

“It wouldn’t be such a great secret if you always used it.” Dorian pointed out. “Someone would figure it out.”

“Maybe I should have secret passages for the secret passages.” Evelyn mused. “I bet Skyhold has secret passages.”

“Leliana would know.” Dorian said. It would explain how she always knew what was happening in the keep. How had she known how many bottles of wine he managed to spirit out of the storage racks? Secret passages and spies, obviously.

“When we finish the story, we should look.” Evelyn informed him. Dorian chuckled and turned the page.

“As you command, Little Tyrant.” He teased.

-

It is warm and pleasant and safe in Skyhold. It isn’t home, but it feels more like a home than home ever has. People scold her, but they praise her. There’s always someone to talk to, to learn from, and there is always something to do. And no one gets mad when there’s a ripped hem or muddy skirt. Hems can be mended and skirts washed.

But Nanny would be sad, and Corwin would be upset. Benedict must be worried. Home, home, miss the scent of the sea and the colorful roses, miss Ostwick, want to go home- but everyone is nice in Skyhold and it feels like home, and it would make the people here worry- where is home now? Who is family? Who is more important?

Cole clutched his head and stayed still in the dusty tavern attic. Solas said not to bother the Inquisitor. He said that she was very confused and that spirits would confuse her more, but she was hurting and he wanted to help! The sadness burnt a hole in her heart, his heart, and he just wanted to patch it, make it better. Wasn’t that what he was supposed to do? Help the hurt? Make things well again?

“Hello?” A quiet voice called out into the attic. “Is anyone here?” Someone, a tiny someone, scrambled up into the attic, and Cole recognized them. Her. Evelyn. Inquisitor. Small Inquisitor. The same yet different, something Cole vaguely recognized but could not quite name.

“Oh! I didn’t see you.” Evelyn said. “I was looking for somewhere quiet to stay, I can leave.”

“No, you should forget I was here.” Cole replied. Turn to dust, take a new shape, don’t let her remember, don’t let her see- but he was stuck. There was hurt here. He had to heal the hurt.

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t steal your space, Ser.” Evelyn said politely. “Were you looking for somewhere quiet too?”

“No. Yes. Quiet is too quiet, but all the voices are so loud.” Cole murmured. The little Inquisitor hesitantly approached him, and Cole scrambled to get away. She stopped moving, and so he stopped. No more movement.

“If I keep you company here, it won’t be too loud or too quiet, will it?” Evelyn asked softly. Cole shook his head. Evelyn sat down, legs folded underneath her.

“Do you live here in the attic? I didn’t see you here before.” Evelyn remarked.

“I am everywhere in Skyhold.” Cole stated.

“I guess I just hadn’t run into you until now.” Evelyn replied. “I’m Evelyn Trevelyan.”

“Hello. You miss your home.” Cole said. “Cool winds and the smell of the sea, roses in the garden, Nanny’s strong hands braiding my hair at night… But you don’t want to return. Why?“

“My Nanny and brothers will be worried.” Evelyn explained. “But I like it here in Skyhold. I like everyone here.”

“Ostwick is lonely. People get angry in Ostwick.” Cole murmured. “Sit up straight, don’t slurp your soup, why can’t you behave?”

“Exactly! It isn’t like that in Skyhold. People help me be better. Lady Vivienne points out my mistakes, but she shows me how to not make so many!” Evelyn said. “No one wants me to fail.” Cole sensed surprise, and then sadness. But overwhelming the surprise and sorrow was understanding.

“No one wants me to fail here. They care about me.” Evelyn murmured.

“Yes.” Cole agreed. He felt the love, the care, the concern, and he felt it from so many places and people.

“I wish I could stay.” Evelyn said softly. She felt sad, longing, and Cole just didn’t understand why!

“You can’t stay?” Cole asked.

“I have to go back home.” Evelyn explained. “My family will miss me. Misses me.” Cole could feel distant feelings of concern and worry, feelings from far away about someone who was not here. But they were not as strong as the connections here.

“This isn’t home for you?” Cole questioned.

“Not yet.” Evelyn murmured. “Maybe, when I get bigger, it can be.” She stood up and smiled, and Cole thought she felt lighter. The hurt was still there, but it was smaller now. Duller now.

“Thanks for letting me stay up here. I’ve got a lot to think about.” Evelyn said, and she hurried down the stairs and disappeared into the tavern below. Cole shut his eyes and let himself fly and see and feel everything in Skyhold and beyond.

-

Inquisitor Trevelyan sent a message early in the morning to all the members of the Inner Circle.

_Have recovered from my illness. Please convene in the War Room at the eighth bell._

_Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan_

When the Inner Circle rushed the War Room at the chapel bell rang eight times, they saw Inquisitor Trevelyan standing by the war table, dressed in her everyday drab olive robes. Someone had clumsily cut two slits up the sides of the garment, and when she moved around the table they saw that she wore leggings underneath. Her long dark hair had been braided back in a single plait and tied at the end with a bright red silk ribbon.

“Good morning, everyone.” The Inquisitor said politely, expression as serene as they all remembered it to be. “Please, do sit down. I am sure we are quite behind as I’ve spent the week indisposed.”

“Are you well, Inquisitor?” Cassandra asked. Did she not remember the past week? Had she forgotten it all? Surreptitious glances at Solas indicated that he was as puzzled as the rest of them. If Solas, their resident Fade and ancient magic expert, had no answers, what could be done? There would be no answers, no explanations. This past week would have to be a bizarre story they kept to themselves.

“Yes, Seeker Pentaghast.” Inquisitor Trevelyan promptly replied. “I was told that I was quite ill this past week. I hope I was not too much trouble.”

“No. None at all.” Leliana said swiftly. “We coped well enough.”

“Indeed.” Josephine added. “It was no trouble.”

“Right. Still, I apologize. Thank you, all of you, for taking care of me. I’ve been told that healers make for terrible patients.” Inquisitor Trevelyan said. “Now, we really must be getting on. I’m certain we are quite behind do to my… indisposition.”

“The quiet ones do make the most trouble.” Vivienne murmured, and there was a look of agreement shared among the Inner Circle as they warily sat down around the war table and the Inquisitor began to point at parts of the map and asking for the latest reports on different regions. It was like it always had been, but there was a tenseness in the air that would not go away. Cole stared at the Inquisitor, eyes great and all seeing underneath his hat brim. Inquisitor Trevelyan, for her part, didn’t seem to notice the intense scrutiny she was under. She kept her head down and kept on with the meeting.

“Now if our scouting reports are accurate, we need to revisit the Storm Coast and close another rift.” Inquisitor Trevelyan said after listening to Leliana’s summary of the latest reports. “The weather is going to be rough this week, so perhaps we will visit Crestwood as well. We will be in the area for some time, it will be far easier to get as much done as possible while we’re there-”

“You haven’t forgotten!” Cole cried out suddenly. “No sword hanging over my head, free as a bird, for once I was the carefree one, I never climbed up buildings or listened to fun stories, no one ever cared about me without restraint before, no one listened to me and took me seriously when I was a child before this- why did you pretend?”

It was silent. Twelve pairs of eyes were fixated on the Inquisitor, who had gone as still as a rabbit who knew it was the object of the hunt. Her slender, calloused hands lay on the map, still pointing to Crestwood and the Storm Coast. Her braid hung over her shoulder, and the ends of her hair and the red ribbon brushed against the parchment that marked the Waking Sea.

“I- I suppose I was embarrassed, Cole.” Inquisitor Trevelyan murmured, almost as if she was speaking only to herself. “I was a bit of a nuisance, wasn’t I? Getting into everyone's business, demanding so much of your time.”

“It wasn’t anything we weren’t willing to give, my dear.” Vivienne said with surprising softness.

“Can’t force us to do something against our wills.” Blackwall agreed. “It wasn’t any trouble.”

“I’ll miss gettin’ you to steal me some jam.” Sera added with a grin. “Even if it’s nice to have adult Lynn-y back.” Inquisitor Trevelyan flushed slightly, but she returned Sera’s smile with a shy grin of her own.

“We can have another snack of scones and jam sometime, Sera, but I don’t know if I’ll be allowed to climb the roof again. I was given quite the talking to.” She joked, giving Cullen a sidelong glance.

“You could have broken your neck, Evelyn.” Cullen retorted. “That is, Inquisitor.”

“You have any preference, Ribbons?” Varric asked. “Do you want to be called Inquisitor, Lady Trevelyan, Evelyn? Little you was quite insistent.”

“I… I like being plain Evelyn.” Evelyn stated. “I know there is a level of expected formality in public, but in private I would prefer to go by my first name.”

“How much do you remember, Evelyn?” Solas asked. Evelyn sat back in her seat and looked up to the great branches hanging above the war table.

“Parts of it feel more like a dream than real.” Evelyn said thoughtfully. “Or like a very old memory. Other parts are as fresh as a week-old memory would be. It’s all a bit muddled, and a lot of the feelings are nostalgic. You tell very good stories, Cassandra. I was so excited to hear them.”

“You’re welcome.” Cassandra muttered, her cheeks pink.

“I’ll be working through those memories and feelings for a while, I think.” Evelyn continued. “Not that it will prevent me from performing my duties, but still. We should be cautious. Take it easy for a little, in case something disastrous happens.”

“Good to know you’re thinking in terms of ‘we’ instead of just ‘you.’” Dorian remarked. “As it stands, we’re going to be fielding questions about where young Evelyn came from and where she’s gone.”

“I think my people have already caught on to who the Little Boss was. Is.” Iron Bull grinned. “And I’m sure most of the people have a vague idea.” No one who saw young Evelyn and compared her to the Inquisitor could deny a familial relationship. Anyone who looked closer than a glance would think that they looked remarkably similar. Siblings, perhaps. A little investigation would reveal that the Inquisitor had no sisters, and people would wonder.

“I think we can make something up, a few rumors and songs.” Evelyn suggested. “Tell enough stories, and no one will be able to guess the truth of the matter.”

“So we pretend it never happened, then.” Josephine said. “Act as we all did before.”

“Perhaps not completely.” Evelyn murmured. “Not everything has to be so… that is-”

“You don’t like standing away from us. You thought it was necessary, but now you don’t want it to be.” Cole said. Evelyn’s face flushed pink, and she said nothing for some time.

“It was… thank you all for giving me a little bit of a childhood, if only for a week.” Evelyn finally murmured. “You made what could have been terrifying into something that was- that is, I felt safe. So thank you.” She shook her head and smiled. “It was nice to know that I have such good friends. And I think, young me… young me would have liked to stay. She would have chosen to stay here, if she was given the chance.” She gave the assembled group a bashful smile before ducking her head. After a moment she seemed to have recovered her customary calm demeanor, but there was a little smile on her face and bright gleam in her dark eyes.

“And now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I really do think we should get back to work.” Evelyn ordered. They returned to planning the next voyage out of Skyhold, but the atmosphere had changed. There were smiles, a few jokes and some laughter as they gathered around the table, bound together by new friendships. 

Sometimes a family, Evelyn Trevelyan thought as she gazed out at the people gathered around the table, sometimes a family was the people you choose.

**Author's Note:**

> I shamelessly indulged a vague idea and this is the result. That's all.


End file.
